Unwanted Guest
by BloodiedTongues
Summary: Orcs are the minions of Sauron, an undebatable fact. Yet orcs are known for their treachery, and sometimes that treachery stretch to unexpected paths. My alternate version of a legendary masterpiece. Read at your own risk. -AU-
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Lord of the Rings, or anything affiliated with Lord of the Rings or the wonderful world created by John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, nor will I ever try to take credit for his glorious work.

_This is a heavily -what-ifish- story. I have read some stories trying to portray orcs in a better light, but most of them have made a story that's no longer about orcs. They're creatures that look like orcs, but in reality are more peaceful and loving than hobbits in the attempts to make them good. The problem is that orcs are evil, or at least actions we judge as evil are in their nature. We wouldn't buy a brand new Mercedes just to run over an old lady and her dog; it's not in our nature. An orc wouldn't spare a prisoner his torture. It's in his nature to cause pain._

_(I have yet to learn what the term AU means, but if it's anything akin to 'Heavily modified by the writer! Read at your own risk!' then this story fits pretty well with that.)_

_I have no idea where this story will go, if anywhere. I'm entering the turf of the man who literally introduced the fantasy genre to the modern world and I'm terrified I'll desecrate his works._

_Anywho the point of this story is to try to implement orcs into the story from a different side than just enemies, while still keeping them orcs. Expect all of them to be evil by instincts, expect some to be truly malignant as individuals. And please forgive me for any Mary Sues._

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_(Takes place after the formal founding of the Fellowship, when all the servants have departed and the Ring is back in Frodo's pocket.)_

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No sooner had Bilbo left the gathered crowd and closed the door behind him that a lone figure toppled down the roof with a startled yelp. As to the identity of this new arrival, Frodo could not tell, for everyone had risen from their seats with their weapons ready. The elves strung their bows, the dwarves assumed battle stances and Aragorn and Boromir swiftly did the same. Gandalf stretched his arms out to the side and pushed the hobbits behind him.

"Ashes of elves and slime and slugs!" The being cursed a coarse croak as it stood up, immediately adopting a perplexed expression at the dozen weapons focused upon his throat. Now Frodo literally recoiled, and Gandalf held his staff forward. This terrible cretin, for Frodo could find no other word to describe it, stood crook legged and with long, hairy arms and a face that looked like it had been pushed against a paved road during infancy. Its eyes were red and the blood from its split lip was as black as tar. Its teeth were yellow, misshapen fangs and at its belt was a curved sickle, turned into a weapon of death and torment.

"A goblin!" The terrified whisper came from Peregrin and so pale Frodo had not seen his cousin since their encounter with the barrow wights. But yes, forcing himself to look again, the creature matched Bilbo's bedtime stories perfectly and he was dearly grateful Bilbo had been spared the sight.

One of the elven envoys spat in disgust and let loose an arrow at the intruder who only barely avoided certain death by throwing himself to side, cowering into the shadows. "Hold!" The voice held such command that none could refuse. Striding forward with his arms outstretched Elrond spoke again and even Glôin sank back into his seat on reflex.

"Hold my kinsmen and guests! Stay your anger and sheathe your blades. Blood has not been shed in Rivendell in many lifetimes of men. No enemy can pass into my domain without my knowledge, as you all should know. This," he paused momentarily as if uncertain what words to utter next "creature has not come before me unexpectedly. In fact I have been aware of his arrival for quite some time, as is the custom of welcoming," again he paused, biting his lip with deep regret at the next words to come "of welcoming envoys."

The scene exploded in outrage, anger and frustration etched into every face and voice. Elrond tried in vain to placate the crowd as voice upon voice assailed him, demanding reason, demanding explanation and uttering such words as are better left forgotten. The hobbits all called and shouted for the wizard as the feet of the tall folks pushed them further away from him. Distraught and caught in the chaos, the hobbits fled to the nearest archway, and came face to face with three new arrivals, all as hideous as the one trying to wrestle free from the grasp of men and dwarves. "Gandalf!" Frodo called at the top of his lungs, and the grey clad wizard forcefully pushed his way through the crowd.

Turning his head around, Frodo immediately wished he had not, for the shortest among the three looked back and forth and grinned, a most terrible sight. It was cruel and malignant and relished in the chaos. With a harsh laugh it barked a single word that was unlike anything the hobbits had ever heard. It reminded Frodo vaguely of the Black Speech, but bore no resemblance to any elven words he had ever heard, but more horrifying than anything was its effect.

With their arms wrapped around their ears, every elf crumbled to their knees with tear stained cheeks, screaming as if in great pain. The dwarves and men were stricken as well, but their reaction was not one of pain, but fear, pure and unadulterated. Even Gandalf seemed shocked and took a step back. Only the hobbits seemed unaffected by the horrors of this, surely a cruel and dark spell from the darkest corners of Mordor. The lack of reaction did not go unnoticed, for the being that had spoken it seemed disappointed. That however quickly changed as it eyed the others about him. Walking over to Elrond, the orc knelt down beside the half-elven lord and grinned viciously. "My apologies, Lord Elrond." There was no compassion or regret in his voice. "It seemed necessary at the time." Frodo expected to hear more, but the orc held his tongue, drinking in the pain and suffering he had caused with venomous glee and for a second, Frodo feared he had come face to face with the Dark Lord himself.

"It has been long since last I heard that language," The hobbits turned around and their hearts immediately rose to see their cherished wizard regain his composure. "I had hoped I never would again." The orc merely stepped away from Elrond and shrugged his shoulders.

"Happy I could reacquaint you with it." But Gandalf completely ignored the orc and knelt by Elrond's side, carefully helping the recovering lord back into his seat.

"If you are done with your little playthings, perhaps you would like to release them from your hold so we can be done with this damnable business." Came a voice, dark and impatient, from one of the orcs, large and covered in thick plates and black warg furs. He wore a crown of wild hair and a large beard that made his head seem little more than a face peeking out of a bush of black, unwashed hair that fell over broad shoulders and a fat belly. In his hand he held a hammer too heavy for a man to lift with one hand, but a handle too short to wield efficiently with two. And with what fangs he had left, and they numbered less than a dozen, he sneered at his companion.

"They are under no spell, Mobdush old friend. The master's language has great power, as you would do well to remember." Retorted the short orc and indeed, all around them, the elves and men and dwarves stumbled to their seats, albeit still shaken and mystified. Legolas was the first to speak. He knew well the temper of dwarves and was certain they would only make matters worse.

"Milord Elrond," he paused briefly to inhale with a soft breath. "Never before have I questioned your intentions or your state of mind," Again he paused and everybody lent him their ears. "But you give me little choice when you accept emissaries from Mordor, let alone at this hour."

"I am too am forced to share his opinion, milord. Nothing good has come from Mordor and their actions here today clearly testify that." Spoke Aragorn and the whispering from the crowd echoed his opinion."

"I admit I am puzzled by the trust you place in these wretched orcs." said Gandalf, his voice lending reason and calm to the bewildered crowd. "But I have never known you to be rash or make any decision without thorough consideration."

"I thank you, Gandalf, and no, this decision has not been taken lightly. But times come that calls for unorthodox actions, and a time such as now has not been seen in an entire age. I tell you Sauron's strength only grow, not wane, and thus I am forced to explore every possibility to halt the tide, no matter how little they appeal to me."

Tired and uncertain, the elf lord lowered his shoulders and let his words sink in as a discomforting silence ensued. Gandalf was in his seat and supported himself wearily against his staff with the hobbits at his side. Legolas and Aragorn exchanged concerned glances and the envoys of men sat in incomprehension. Only the dwarves seemed remotely calm, but each of them had a pipe in their mouth and such amounts of smoke rose one would think Rivendell was caught in a blazing inferno.

"My pardon, milord." Elrond let his gaze fall to the origin of the voice and Samwise Gamgee took a deep breath as the elf lord's eyes fell upon him. He lifted an eyebrow in curiosity and inclined his head for the hobbit to continue. "It's not really my place to say, I suppose, milord, for this is the first time I've seen an actual goblin and,"

Now the little hobbit had caught the attention of everybody present. To calm down the frightened hobbit's nerves, Elrond leaned closer. "Yes?"

"Well, as I said, it's not really place to say. I've only heard stories of them and suffered none from them myself, so I'm not sure which are true," He looked over his shoulder, and his face paled at the sadistic grin from the shortest of the orcs staring directly at him. Swallowing loud enough for all to hear, he whimpered and managed to stutter a barely coherent sentence. "b-b-but why d-do you trust them?"

If not for the seriousness of the situation, Elrond would have smiled warmly in gratitude. It was just the question he had been waiting for. He placed his hands on Sam's shoulders and squeezed them reassuringly before sending him back to Gandalf, and away from the orcs.

Rising to his full height, Elrond lifted his arms above his head to get everybody's attention.

"You ask me why I trust them, and I say I do not. I more than any of you would like nothing more than to see them dead." He lowered his arms and let them relax at his side and began walking slowly and looked each of them in the eye for emphasis. "You ask why I accept envoys from Mordor, and I say I have not. Had they come for the Ring, I think none can now agree that they could have done so already. They have come under another banner, with a cause I have heard and found sound, as reluctant as I am to admit it."

Boromir raised his voice quickly, only barely avoiding interrupting the elven lord. "Then whom do they serve?" He all but demanded.

Before Elrond could respond the orc who had fallen from the roof strode forward with a long pike, a black bundle of cloth tied around the top. He was both taller and thinner than his companions and clothed in leather rags with bits of torn mail underneath and on his head a tall helmet with a nose guard, obviously ancient elven in origin. "Lo and behold, unworthy cretins! For you bask in the presence of the true Dark Lord!" And with those proud words, proclaimed in a voice zealous and fanatical, the orc untied the bundle and revealed a war torn banner.

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_That's the first chapter. I hope you'll read it and tell me what you think and that it's not too scandalous.__And for the record, Gandalf is not struck by the 'spell', only shocked at hearing a word from a language he thought dead. If I fall into the trap of Mary Sues, Gandalf will never be weaker than them._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Lord of the Rings, or anything affiliated with Lord of the Rings or the wonderful world created by John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, nor will I ever try to take credit for his glorious work.

Here it is, the second chapter. I hope this explains why the orcs would help the fellowship and still retain their wickedness. I fear I failed keeping the characters in character at the end, but hopefully the rest of the story will make up for that.  
Anyway, enjoy.

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Boromir was the first to laugh and he did so with as much mockery as mirth. A second earlier his eyes had been concentrated on the orc's banner, but now they were shut and his face twisted into a taunting grimace and several others joined him, even the elves held their hands over their mouths to hide their snickers.

The banner bearer's expression was incredulous and coated with disbelief and rage alike. Boromir wiped a tear from his eye and looked up at the bewildered orc and though his voice was royal and warm, it was thick with sickening sarcasm.

"This is surely a jest, for lest my eyes betray me, there is nothing there." And true to his statement, the banner was completely black. "Tell me, o noble squire, who is this lord of yours who cannot even earn himself a herald?"

The orc stepped back as if stricken by an arrow, and by his face it could very well have been so, for Boromir's words seemed to have hit him directly in his cold heart. The orc screamed in frustration, a wailing, high-pitched cry of dismay and lifted his sickle at Boromir with the intent to kill. He couldn't even take a single step before his much fatter companion sent him crashing to the ground with a savage slap.

"Quit your whining, you snivelling little half-goblin. We got a job to do here!"

But even with a red imprint on his already blue, purple and pink bruised face, the orc stood up to give his companion a piece of his mind. And before he could get his second knee off the ground, the larger orc-Mobdush by name-brought his hand back the way it had come and backhanded the banner bearer onto his back. With one last attempt he sat up and stared defiantly into Mobdush's eyes. And the hand he had already raised, ready to strike. Like a cowering pup, the banner bearer held his banner high and his head low in a gesture of submission. Even with all the dreadful stories he had heard of these creatures, as well as their recent acts of malice, Frodo couldn't help himself but feel a twinge of pity for the orc when he was slapped once more for good measure.

"If you two children are done, perhaps you'd let me explain our presence here?" Hissed the shortest of them and his eyes burned with a deadly rage that made both orcs turn away to hide their pale faces. Having lost interest in his companions he turned around to the crowd with an unsettling polite bow. "Forgive them good lords. The sunlight has boiled whatever brains they claim to have."

The orc cleared his throat, and stood to his full height, which made him barely a hair's width taller than Gloin, a difference invisible to the naked eye. Even the sunlight seemed to bother him little and he smiled with his lips sealed, hiding his disfigured teeth that made his mouth so intimidating. If not for his other hideous features, he could easily be mistaken for a noble lord. A disgusting image nobody were sad to be rid of.

"We have come on behalf of our liege in the name of our glorious lord. Lend me your ears, good men and sons of the mountains and kin of the woodland realms, lend me your attention and your minds and fear not, your questions will be answered. Know that we come without the intent to harm, but to deliver a proposition, a treaty if you will-"

"This is preposterous!" Came the plea from the greatly disheartened elf at Legolas' side, guard to the elf prince and squire to the king Thranduil. "You waste our time listening to this mongrel whereas Sauron has only time to gain. Ai, Ai, hearken to me and aid me in expelling these vermin back to their pits where they belong."

Before the orc could respond, the banner bearer had already stepped forth and waved his pike at the elf. "Insignificant slime! You speak out of turn and dare interrupt the favored of the Dark Lord!"

"Silence Skrigak! I have tolerated your interference long enough! Now be gone from my sight or I shall make sure you never speak that title again!" Cried the offended party in the group of orcs and so terrified was the banner bearer that none were certain they had ever seen an orc run so fast. "And you," He cried out with a finger extended at the elf who had interrupted him in the first place. "Sit!" And struck with unexplainable terror, his body fell back into his seat, much to his own dismay.

"Now, as I was about to say before I was so rudely interrupted, we have come to offer our services against the usurper Dark Lord. We heard of the presence of the Nine long ago and made haste to lend our-"

By this time Aragorn had already stopped listening. He might be an orc, but the ranger could see right through him, who spoke too eloquently and he knew his kind well. Diplomats, ambassadors, emissaries and advisors, they were all the same in the end. Genuine smiles coated with falsehood. Tongues as slippery as eels and words filled with as much venom as a viper. He knew the words of kings and lords and their worth. Already after the first sentence, Aragorn had already understood everything the orc intended to say. But fake though the orc's smile might be, Aragorn concealed his opinions on the matter perfectly, keeping his face passive and his emotions hidden. "-and to that end unite in common interests."

But if he himself did well, Legolas failed miserably. To the untrained eye the elf might have appeared still as a statue but to the experienced gaze of the ranger who knew the woodland prince well it was obvious his teeth had been clenched tight behind his lips. Afraid his friend might suffer at the hand of the speaking orc for his attitude, Aragorn tried to gain Legolas' attention with short waves of his hand and quiet hisses.

"Yes?" And looking up straight into the gaze of the orc, he realized he had been made the fool. "You had something to say, Dúnadan?"

"I would very much like to hear who your liege is, and the identity of this lord whom he represents." Both orc and man turned their heads to the grey-clad wizard who had taken up a pipe, looking oddly tranquil and calm for the situation. Puffing out a smoke ring, the wizard leaned back into his chair and kept his back straight and erect. "You speak of a master one whose behalf you are here, yet you have provided us with no name that we may verify your claims."

The orc, who moments before had been only and inch-if that-away from Aragorn's face, sneered and moved over to Gandalf.

"Our liege, if you wish to hear his name, be warned that it will tell you nothing, for he has taken back the name he believes he was given at the third cycle of the stars." Pulling back his hideous lips, he added with an unintentional whisper, "to the disgrace of us all."

Turning around, he raised his voice and kept his hands away from his belt so he would not appear intimidating, even though there were no daggers on his belt and his face was already intimidating enough to scare the darkness out of the shadows.

"Our liege is ancient Denethor-" He spat the name as if it was a foul tasting acid on his tongue, "who fled the rider's horn and the barking of his hound. Our lord are the arms who welcomed him into his embrace and stripped him of his taint."

None among the hobbits were satisfied with this answer, which to them only raised many more. But surprisingly, Gandalf nodded quietly, accepting the answer without question. Elrond on the other hand was rubbing his fingers against his forehead and there was a deep sadness in his voice when he spoke. "Why was I not informed of this?"

"I will get to that, milord, I assure you, you-"

"Never mind! I can imagine the answer myself and even that is too long. Tell us," He said and extended a hand at all who had been assembled. "as you have told me, of your strife with the Dark Lord."

"I too am interested in what orcs have to gain from betraying their own master and his whip." Said Glôin and his son echoed him.

"It is not a matter of what we have to gain, which is next to nothing, you bearded swamp toad, as it is a matter of what we have to lose!"

Of all in the assembled crowd, only Boromir found the orc's remark amusing, something that earned him a scowl from Gimli who was clearly no longer fond of the idea of sharing the man's company. It was the envoys of men however who changed his mind, for their faces were embarrassed and they moved their seats away from him. Running his finger under the collar of his tunic, he attempted a smile in the dwarves' direction, was promptly ignored.

"If I may continue without further interr-" But no longer did he get, and it was all the hobbits could do not to break into a loud snicker when Elrond silenced the orc.

"You may speak undisturbed when you refrain from insulting my guests, who unlike you have earned my respect."

The short orc stared at Elrond as if the half elven lord had grown a second head and though his mouth moved, no sound escaped his lips. And at the sight of those wide, incredulous eyes, both Peregrin and Meriadoc failed to hold back their snickers, despite the hands they held over their bloated cheeks.

Finally, the orc abandoned his diplomatic façade and his bushy brows were pulled together in a tight knot, covering his eyes with an ominous shade and his yellow teeth were bared in all their hideous glory, sharp, broken and needle like from gums as black as his blood. With a spitting snarl that resonated from deep inside his throat he sent the two hobbits cowering behind the wizard's cloak. And his tongue was red, to the extent you'd be easily convinced it was bleeding.

"I come here offering our aid, our cooperation, a treaty of non-aggression! I come and walk in the sun!" He cried with arms out, bathing his entire self in the sunlight. "I tolerate your foul stench of soap! And how am I treated? Like some common thief!"

Snarling again, he pulled his lips tight over his teeth and black gums. "My liege is Denethor and Melkor is my lord." As satisfying as it had been to see his grin vanish, as horrible it was to see it return. For now the elves were filled with dread and confusion and he drank in their fear and anger as if it was the sweetest honey. "Yes, Melkor, or Morgoth as you so wrongly accuse him, is our lord. He needs no herald, Boromir of Gondor, for he is darkness incarnate and his banner is black. From his hand personally have I learned my craft and by his will was our liege freed in ancient times."

Although his rage had vanished, the orc did not put back on his diplomatic mask, but continued his speech with enthusiasm and an unwilling persistence to let anyone speak. "You might think Sauron wishes to rule the world, but that statement is false!" Several envoys rose up to contradict his claim, but each of them received a passive stare from the half elven lord to hold their tongues, much to their dismay, and the orc's pleasure.

"Our lord Melkor was satisfied with being the only king. After we had sacked Gondolin, he was content, for now there existed no kingdom to oppose his claim of superiority. But that is not enough for Sauron! Unlike his master, he will not be satisfied with being the ruler of Middle-Earth. You can rule through fear, and your subjects will rebel. You can rule through kindness and your subjects will become spoiled and crave more when you have nothing more to give. Sauron, craves control and control alone."

"And what, would you say, is the difference between control and ruling?" Asked an envoy from Dale, who kept himself close to the dwarves, with a woven wool-cloak around his shoulders and a river trader's hat on his lap.

"I could try to explain it, but I fear your crops will rot before I am finished pounding the knowledge into your thick skull, peasant." The orc sneered in retort, and only the subject he was speaking on spared him from Elrond's wrath. "Perhaps it would be better if you kept quiet and you might be able to hear your wife when she runs away with the sheep."

Humbled the man put on his hat and dropped it over his face while rubbing his white stubble beard with his fingers, trying to remember some response to shout out when Elrond no longer protected the orc's right to speak.

"You must understand that Sauron is obsessed with control. It's not enough for him to know that all the lands are under his rule, he must also be certain that nobody tries to rise against him, that nobody dare think him unfit. All of us who oppose him were once chief lieutenants in his legions before the fall of Angband and chaining of our Lord Melkor. And when he bound the Nine to his will, we merely laughed at the folly of these men who had fallen to his guile so easily. We suspected nothing. And when he corrupted the kings of Númenor, achieved total control of its kings, we merely cheered at his achievement."

Taking a moment to breathe, the winded orc sat down in the shade away from the sun as the crowd for the first time waited for him to continue. Aragorn and Boromir more than others listened with interest, for if these had indeed once been high ranking officers, what information they held would only serve the cause of men.

"Only when he grew tired of his legions did we suspect something was amiss. At first we noticed how the Nine had been given his every attention, his every assignment. Even if he rarely spoke to us before, we had known him longer than these shades had dreamt of power. Then he began experimenting on spawning his new orcs. These foul uruk-hai. That was when our eyes were opened and we saw clearly what we should've known early on even before the downfall or Númenor."

"Tell us then, orc of Angband, what you think is Sauron's plan that drives you to betray him?" Requested Gandalf and now even he was getting impatient.

"Isn't it simple, wizard? Have you not already seen his wraiths, his wights, his ghosts and spirits of Angmar and Dol Guldur? They obey his will to the letter. They don't even flex their fingers if he doesn't wish it to be so. Sauron will conquer the world, and all its inhabitants, orcs as well as elves and men and halflings will be eradicated to serve him as slaves to his will in eternal twilight. An eternal realm, under his eternal control, with no free will to sire rebellion."

This drew several murmurs from the crowd and some nodded regretfully in agreement, reluctant to agree with one of his kind. Others sank their faces into their hands, for this scenario had escaped them, and dread and grief filled their minds when they thought of their loved ones and their fate should this be true. And the smoke from the dwarves' pipes rose ever higher and the sun's rays faded, bathing them in complete shadow, and the sun was hidden briefly behind a tiny cloud that came out of nowhere as if the heavens were reflecting the orc's dire warnings.

With a deep bow, the orc retreated back into the shadows and his companions gathered around him, the unknown one holding a short bow and a helmet covering its face, from which it eyed everybody with bows who might be looking at the orcish envoy. Some of the emissaries rose up and said their farewells, well aware that the meeting's end was long overdue. Leaving only the fellowship and the dwarves and Thranduil's squire.

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The next months came and went much faster than anyone had anticipated, for in the house of Elrond their burdens were lessened and with easier warmth in their hearts, the seasons passed at a faster pace. Though reports would come from the giant eagles of how the world fared, none told of activity near old abandoned orcish strongholds. Even Angband of old seemed deserted. At times Frodo would walk with Bilbo in Rivendell and marvel at all the sights that seemed just as amazing the tenth time they saw them as they had the first time. And more than once, Frodo had seen ominous silhouettes stalk on the roofs, fortunately outside his uncle's view. He wasn't sure how Bilbo would handle seeing goblins, least of all in Rivendell of all places.

At times, they would join Gandalf for pipes and tea near a warm fireplace in the wizard's room, but one night Frodo had come not alone, but in the presence of his friends rather than his uncle. The first subject of discussion was a childish bickering over pipeweeds between Peregrin and Meriadoc, for each of them had run low on their supply and claimed year old debts in which they had lent their friend a bit from their personal package. And after that had been settled, because Gandalf had grown annoyed and held their ears near the fire-at a perfectly harmless distance from catching on fire of course-until they promised in even louder tones to keep quiet, they began inquiring the wizard on Bilbo's tales and which parts were true and which were pure exaggerated. This of course was no easier for Gandalf, for he was now put in a dangerous dilemma of reassuring the hobbits on the credibility of their childhood dreams, fuelled by the adventures of Bilbo Baggins, or tear their dreams apart by revealing that a good third of the examples they presented for him was a bit more than any hobbit of Bilbo's size could possibly achieve. And by size, he wasn't merely thinking about his height.

As they looked out the window which faced the great waterfalls, the grey wizard pointed out the constellations and told their names and all the stories he knew connected to them. Their tranquillity was disturbed however by a shocked cry from the outside and they all rushed to the door. Standing outside in the courtyard, were two elves garbed in rusty green and brown, with spear and bow upon their backs and elven short swords on their belt and they were in a fierce argument with the lord of the house. "What're they saying, Frodo?" Whispered Meriadoc, eager to hear what the ruckus was all about. "They are discussing the goblins. They are not pleased with Lord Elrond's decision." "Well, it's his decision isn't it? What rights do they have to tell him what to do and what not to do?"

It was Gandalf who answered Meriadoc's question, much more silently than the hobbits, which in his opinion were loud enough at night to disturb old Glaurung from his eternal slumber with their snoring. "Those are Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond and heirs to his house, should they claim the heritage when he is no longer in this world."

"Oh." Said Meriadoc simply. "Well, what're they saying?"

"They are fearful for their father's sanity, and I must admit, so was I to begin with." He said as he closed the door. It was not the business of a wizard and four inquisitive hobbits to spy on private family issues. But at that answer they all turned their heads to him with aghast expressions on their faces not sure they had heard correct. Gandalf? Afraid? If such a thing was possible, then there might as well be untrue episodes in Bilbo's stories too. "What? Is there a squirrel in my beard since you're all staring at my with eyes like supper plates?"

"Gandalf." Inquired Frodo who only in time realized that his jaw was hanging wide open. "You were afraid?" And now it was the wizard's time to be surprised.

"Good gracious boy, of course I was afraid. For him! An old friend, who owe all his losses to orcs, suddenly invites them to his home. What sort of friend would I be if I wasn't worried for his health under such circumstances?" Gandalf paused and his shoulders sank with fatique. Though barely a heartbeat passed ere he spoke again, each second was painfully slow. "Do not mistake fear for cowardice, Frodo. Only a fool fears nothing, for he will not see his death until it has already taken him. If I didn't fear the orcs' blades or the fangs of trolls I'd meet my end long ago and have my head serve as a makeshift scarecrow for the orcish slavefields."

"Slavefields?" At this question, reached up and began massaging his temples. "Gandalf? Are you alright?" No sooner than the question was out could they hear running on the roof. Gandalf turned his gaze up and stared at the ceiling until the hobbits became fearful and curious. "Gandalf?"

"Do not trouble yourself with questions. It is merely our guests moving about as they are prone to do in their caves. I suppose they might be getting homesick, poor carrion worms. I'm sure they must miss their dark, smelly caves terribly with narrow space and all lack of sunlight. How about we leave them a pot of tea as a gesture of good will?" He spoke rather casually, so it was hard to detect the intended sarcasm.

"Are you serious, Gandalf?" And now his eyes did get big, for they were wide open and the smoke meant to go out his mouth crawled and stung like little ants out his nose and he coughed and sneezed simultaneously.

"Of course I'm not serious! Those misbegotten mistakes ought to be destroyed. It's a shame they've never been known for kindness, or they might have the decency to turn to stone in the sunlight like trolls." He ranted as he dropped himself into his rocking chair and puffed smoke from his pipe so rapidly, Meriadoc placed a small bag with a little more pipeweed on the table, as he was certain Gandalf would run out soon if he continued like that. Just like he was certain Peregrin wouldn't miss his pipeweed bag. Judging by Gandalf's expression, they all decided it was probably time to leave.

* * *

The day to leave had come much too soon for Frodo, for he had grown very fond of Rivendell and wished dearly he could soon return. After all, how long a way could it be to Mordor?

He was mildly surprised, but all the more joyous to learn that Aragorn on his quest to go with Boromir to Gondor had agreed to follow the hobbits on their way to Mordor, as well as Legolas and Gimli, who reminded him somewhat of taller versions of Meriadoc and Peregrin with their constant bickering and comments to each other. And it had been very long since he had heard the running goblins on the roof and in his dreams he had imagined Gandalf running after them on the roof and turning them to stone statues to be placed as scarecrows in Elrond's gardens.

He never told Gandalf about these dreams, for he was fearful he might actually do it, and then Elrond's gardens would no longer be as beautiful. When they left there were many to see them leave, but they were nowhere to be found, yet they knew they were there, for at their departure they could hear the soft voices wishing them luck and no ill on the road

Only when they could no longer see the valley and entered deep into the forest did Frodo feel the absence of Elrond's house and he was at a loss until Aragorn came and patted him on the shoulder. He supposed things didn't have to be so bad after all, even though his uncle was now far away and a whole world of danger opened up before him. An hour into the deep forest however, trouble arose, for poor Bill began rearing up in fright.

"Hang on, Sam!" Cried Frodo in distress to no avail, for Samwise had already fallen off and barely avoided the hind legs of his panicked pony. "Strider! What's gotten into him?"

"I am afraid I am to blame for that, young halfling. Forgive my intrusion. I forgot that horses tend to sense things long before others, and they don't react well to my kind."

In the middle of the road stood a short figure holding a gnarled staff. He was garbed in black and crimson leather and a large, brown hood that covered not only his head, but was also draped across his chest and shoulders. His gloves were made from thick fur, but by the size of it, it would have to be a beast four times the size of a normal bear. His boots however, left him speechless, for they were adorned with rusty iron spikes and tiny blades, meant for ripping apart enemies if you stepped upon them and the blood, not even a fortnight old made him sick to his stomach.

"Who are you, who think you got the right to scare poor Bill like that?" Screamed Samwise in a fit of rage and was about to walk over when the hood went down and he was frozen in place, all colour gone from his face as that same sadistic grin had returned to haunt him. Cackling with a wicked grin that seemed to feed on Samwise's fear like it was delicious bowl of warm mushroom soup on a cold winter night.

As one the fellowship armed themselves, at which the orc immediately closed the distance and waved his hand in the air. "Oyh, oyh, I mean no harm! I come here to help!"

"We have had more than enough of your help, I am certain, orc. I am not sure what you've given us but one more reason to be afraid to sleep at night." Proclaimed Gandalf, but he lowered his staff, urging the orc to continue.

The orc seemed to have lost much of his former confidence now, not that he had ever been very haughty in regards to the wizard. "You probably have doubts about me, Gandalf the grey, but my services extend far beyond information, I can assure you."

"If you are referring to your little lecture in the tongue of old Utumno back at the house of Elrond, I am not very interested in having an orc around who paralyzes my group whenever he opens his mouth." Sensing a sudden warmth coming from his belt, Gandalf pulled Glamdring halfway from its scabbard and the sword shone as brightly as a newborn star and even Gandalf had trouble not turning away from the light that stung his eyes.

But the orc's expression wasn't one of fear or fascination, but recognition. "Beater old friend. Long has it been since I placed you in the loot carts and even longer since I felt your sting." Looking up into the wizard's eyes, the orc smiled and knew he had his attention. "Your sword remembers me it seems, may be he hates the one who stole him from his master's cold hands."

"You were at Gondolin?" Inquired a bewildered Legolas, who if not for Glamdring's brilliant radiance that made even him shy would have been hard to convince on such a claim.

"I've been to all the major battles in the latter half of the first age, elf. I was there when Glaurung led the charge in the glorious battle at Angband's gates, which I believe you call the war of the tears or something." With a grin he looked as Gandalf put Glamdring back into its scabbard. "I do not offer mere words of ancient power, wizard. I offer the cunning and skill and arts that has let me live this long and I can promise you, as much as my word is worth, that my offer is generous."

To Frodo's great confusion, the wizard inclined his head for the orc to continue, an opportunity the orc was swift to take. "Under the Lord Melkor, I've studied his sorcery for millennia and even longer without his tutelage. In the dark arts, I am second only to the Nazgul and before them, only to Sauron himself and Gothmog who wielded the black axe. You need not like my magic, wizard, but I am certain you have witnessed it long enough to recognize its value. Remember Lord Elrond's words; times come that calls for unorthodox actions."

"I do remember his words, and they hold more merit than yours ever will. Perhaps if you quit quoting his lordship I'll actually begin to listen to you.

Though clearly not the answer the orc had hoped for it seemed to satisfy his needs. "Very well. I accept your terms, wizard. Now let's see what you have here with you, wizard. Hmm." He studied each member of the fellowship with unerring scrutiny and eye for details and each looked to Gandalf for aid, which they didn't receive. "A fine assortment, I suppose. Four squirrels," He remarked as he passed the hobbits and looked to Boromir and Aragorn. "A peasant who wants to be king and a king who wants to be a peasant." His remark obviously did not fall on deaf ears, for only Aragorn's swift intervention stopped Boromir from drawing his steel and stab the orc in the back. But at this time the orc had already lost interest and moved on to Gimli, the first whom he approached with some uncertainty-mainly because they were the same height and he had never been fond of staring contests with dwarves-.

"A moss covered rock." He stated simply and looked to Legolas, and their expressions to each other were identical, lethal and full of hate, and the orc lashed out with the general orcish opinion of elves. "And a weak, pointy eared skeleton that pisses flowers and shits soap!"

Again, Boromir was the only one who found such comments amusing, and he earned scowls from both the elf and the dwarf now, but little good did it do to persuade him until he caught Aragorn's embarrassed gaze, at which he at once assumed a more militaristic pose to maintain his self-discipline and a shred of dignity.

As fate would have it, it would be Peregrin who would approach the orc with something else than hostility. "Eh, pardon me, master orc. I was merely wondering, you know. Do you have a name? Just gets tiring calling you orc all the times. I'd probably go mad if everybody just called me hobbit whenever I stopped by for tea. 'Hello, mister hobbit' 'More tea, hobbit?' 'What news of your father, hobbit?' "

"Yes, I get it!" Shouted the orc and his patience was already dropping at a dangerous rate. "Fine! You want a name, you can call me by my old nickname back in the days of Old Angband. Spine."

Peregrin stared at the orc, not at all certain he had heard correct. Now he was lifting his eyebrows and rolling his eyes in a way that made Meriadoc want to smack him over the head, guessing it'd be all he needed to understand the subject. "That's an odd name. How'd you get it?"

"I grab people's spines at their neck and pull it out just to hear them scream." The orc-Spine by name-added with a sickening grin and he licked his teeth with his hideous tongue. Peregrin immediately regretted he asked and ran over into the bushes with a hand covering his mouth and a sickly green hue to his skin colour. What followed where the sounds of his stomach rebelling violently against his inquisitive mind and his folly, and Gandalf sighed wearily with his hat low over his eyes. This was what he got for bringing a Took.

Meriadoc shook his head, as did all the hobbits. "I don't like where this is going, master Frodo."

"I know, Merry. Neither do I."

* * *

I thank you, The Lauderdale for mentioning the name, and I agree. I've changed it now.


End file.
